


a softer dark

by OnyxSphinx



Series: newmann one-shots [163]
Category: Pacific Rim (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Set pre-film, mostly just. emotions.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-08
Updated: 2020-07-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25141252
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OnyxSphinx/pseuds/OnyxSphinx
Summary: Newton is, and always has been, to the best of Hermann’s knowledge, the humane incarnation of the phrase “unstoppable force”; there’s not a moment that Hermann has known him that the manhasn’tbeen in some sort of rush—be it in his writing, leaving his letters to run off into near-illegible scrawl, the paper stained from food grease, or in person, when he seems to be in constant motion; bouncing up and down on his heels and tapping atsomethingand humming.So, when he passes the break room—well, it’s technically an unused Jaeger pilot office that’s been converted by the shatterdome personnel into a break room of sorts with the installation of a mini-fridge, a coffee-maker, and a microwave—and catches sight, out of the corner of his eye, just before he turns the corner, the still form of Newton Geiszler, he does a double-take.
Relationships: Newton Geiszler/Hermann Gottlieb
Series: newmann one-shots [163]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1286762
Comments: 1
Kudos: 31





	a softer dark

**Author's Note:**

> anon asked: "Prompt: You are beautiful when you sleep but it's getting a bit old. Please wake up."

Newton is, and always has been, to the best of Hermann’s knowledge, the humane incarnation of the phrase “unstoppable force”; there’s not a moment that Hermann has known him that the man _hasn’t_ been in some sort of rush—be it in his writing, leaving his letters to run off into near-illegible scrawl, the paper stained from food grease, or in person, when he seems to be in constant motion; bouncing up and down on his heels and tapping at _something_ and humming.

So, when he passes the break room—well, it’s technically an unused Jaeger pilot office that’s been converted by the shatterdome personnel into a break room of sorts with the installation of a mini-fridge, a coffee-maker, and a microwave—and catches sight, out of the corner of his eye, just before he turns the corner, the still form of Newton Geiszler, he does a double-take.

His first thought is that Newton must be hurt, and that sends him hurrying back, pulling the door to the room further open and peering in; mind racing with worry, hand clenched on his cane.

A few seconds later, when Newton lets out a huffing, half-muffled breath, and his arm twitches, sending his palm off over the side of the sofa he’s awkwardly sprawled himself over, Hermann realises that he’s not, in fact, hurt; merely _asleep._

Not that that’s any _less_ surprising—he’s never, for all the late, sleepless nights, actually _seen_ Newton asleep.

It’s odd; and he finds himself taking a careful, measured step into the room; trying to minimise the sound his footsteps make, and makes his way over to the other; stopping a few feet away, awkwardly, as he remembers where he is.

They haven’t even _talked,_ for heaven’s sake—well; not beyond the terse exchanges necessitated by working in a close space like the laboratory; and yet, here Hermann finds himself, gazing at the other with a mix of emotions that he’s not sure he really wants to explore, lest they lead to—to _something._

There’s a clatter behind him, and Hermann whips around; trying to banish the panicked expression, like that of a schoolboy caught red-handed with his hand in the cookie jar—he’s got nothing to be embarrassed of; it’s not like he’s _done_ anything.

“Surprised?” Tedo asks; letting go of the cup he’s just set down; voice bemused, a slight smile at the corner of his lips; and Hermann flushes.

“Hardly. Sleep is…a natural function. I just…”

“Didn’t think he’s the type to engage in it?”

Hermann sniffs. “I just think it’s ludicrous for a man of his age and station to sprawl out so haplessly in a public space. I mean, we have _quarters_ for a reason.”

Tendo exhales sharply; and his eyes fill with something unreadable. “He doesn’t really like his,” he says, vaguely, and shrugs; taps out the creamer to try and get the last few droplets. “Half of the time, he’ll go in and then come out after an hour or two.”

Hermann raises a brow in silent question. “His room is right next to mine,” the tech explains; and leans back against the counter, taking a sip from his mug.

“My condolences,” Hermann says, “I—”

He stops; the hairs on the back of his neck prickling; and, a second later, the sofa creaks, and Newton says, “What, no coffee for me? I thought we were friends, Tendo…”

Tendo snorts. “You were asleep. I don’t think even _you_ could drink coffee while asleep, Newt.”

“I’m sure he’d _try,_ ” Hermann mutters; intending it to be low enough that only Tendo hears, but Newton catches it; and lets out a guffaw. Hermann flushes. “I ought to get going,” he says. “Er—good night, Mister Choi. Geiszler.”

“See you in the morning!” Newton calls after him; and the words seem to cling to Hermann all the way to his bed, like frost on wool in the winter; brittle and spikey, and yet, somehow, leaving him with the warmth that follows seeing a wild animal appear with frost coating its pelt in the winter; that of awe—as if he’s experienced something rare and unprecedented.

* * *

A few years later, with their numbers diminished, and their funds nonexistent, the break room is long gone; taking with it the occasional solace it provided him and many others. Instead, they all get their coffee from the mess hall, and drink the watery liquid without much complaint; though Newton will often still whinge about the taste to Hermann.

That’s the only explanation he can think of when he comes back to the lab in the wee hours of the morning after bolting up in his bed when an important piece of information finally comes to him, and finds Newton laid out on the single, bright orange futon that’s wedged in the back of the room.

His torso is twisted; laying stomach-down from about the waist down, but he’s laying on his side on his torso, and his shoulders are almost flat against the futon, with his head tilted back, resting on the arm, hair mussed up and chest rising almost imperceptibly as he breathes in and out.

Hermann stops.

He could just barge over to his desk and pull out his notebook without any regard for the other man; but he finds he cannot; so, instead, he makes his way, as quietly as possible, to the desk, and takes one of the sheets of paper that’s already out, and begins to write on it instead.

He finds his focus not on the paper, though; but, rather, on the biologist lain out not too far away; and his gaze ticks up every so often before he forces himself to look back at the paper; until, finally, he gives in; scribbles the last bit of it without care for how it looks and, instead, looks up properly to look at Newton.

The other looks so… _peaceful._ Hermann’s reminded, once again, of the incongruity of this image with how the other usually is.

Almost on autopilot, he finds himself rising and moving to the other’s side; stands—hovers, really, by the side of the futon; peering at the other’s face; cataloguing the freckles that are spattered across it; magnified, in places, by his glasses.

Newton’s voice drifts into his mind; a memory of a letter surfacing; something about a then-boyfriend of his; of whom Newton had written about. _It’s like—you’re beautiful when you sleep, but it’s getting a little old. Please wake up._

It fits with startling accuracy as Hermann realises that Newton is beautiful; and he’d like nothing more for the other to wake up so he can tell him so; for once, the self-consciousness that would normally stop him from voicing such thoughts nowhere to be found.

What they have between them—Hermann’s not sure of it, yet; it’s more than friendship, perhaps, but _how_ much more, he’s not sure; but he does… _wish_ for _more_ than something undefined.

He’s in half askew over the realisation; voiced, even if to himself, in his mind only, that he wants it; wants _Newton;_ and he feels like his breath has been stolen from his lungs, and yet—and yet; he’s not afraid; nor upset; nor ashamed.

Newton’s hand twitches; and his eyes crinkle, and then, after a moment, they open; squinting in the light. “How long have you been there?” he asks, catching sight of Hermann.

“Not…long,” Hermann replies. “Or—well. I don’t know.”

“Lost track of time?” Newton teases; voice oddly soft; and he leverages himself up on one elbow; but, though his words are playful, there’s a softness to them, as if he knows what Hermann’s been thinking, as impossible as that is.

Hermann’s lips twitch. “I was just surprised to find you asleep. You’re…quite peaceful when you sleep, you know.”

Newton’s brows furrow. “That’s weird,” he says. “I usually toss and turn in my sleep ‘cause of nightmares.”

“Maybe you felt safe here,” Hermann blurts out; without thinking; and Newton’s brows unfurrow; one raising.

“Maybe,” he says. “I mean—maybe I associate the lab with you, or something, and so it’s not…you know. It’s more comfortable, I guess?”

The words warm Hermann; and he smiles. “I’m glad,” he says; and then, hesitantly: “you look…beautiful when you sleep comfortably.”

The words sound awkward as soon as they’re out, but he refuses to apologise for them; not now; not to Newton; and that must be the right choice, because Newton smiles; wide and unabashed; and lets out a soft laugh. “You think I’m beautiful?”

Hermann flushes; finally; the reaction delayed; and his gaze drops away from the other’s, against his will. “Yes,” he murmurs. “I. Ah. I do.”

“Hey. Look at me,” Newton says; and sits up properly; pats the space by his side; and, after a moment, Hermann sits; and raises his gaze, slowly, too look at the other properly. Newton reaches out to place his hand over Hermann’s. “I think you’re beautiful too, okay, Herms?”

“…okay,” Hermann whispers; not meaning it to be so quiet; but it comes out so; like a confession; like disbelief; and Newton must sense it, because he sighs.

“I promise,” he says; and leans forward; kisses Hermann’s cheek. “I promise, okay? I’d, um. I’d kiss you to, uh, seal the deal, or whatever, but I probably have like, morning breath, or something. Sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Hermann assures; and this time, his voice is steadier; no longer a whisper; and they smile at each other; Newton’s hand slipping into his, now, and Hermann covers it with his other; smiles even wider as Newton’s fingers twitch, his feet, bent to hook slightly beneath the futon, tapping against the floor; and feels a bit like he’s caught a miracle in his own two hands.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find me at [autisticharrow](https://autisticharrow.tumblr.com/) on tumblr


End file.
